


No Mistletoe Required

by redscudery



Series: Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bisexual John Watson, Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Room of Requirement, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Teenagers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trapped In A Closet, animated mistletoe, not that I object, the Room of Requirement has a very odd sense of humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson goes looking for mince tarts and ends up being pursued down a hallway by enchanted mistletoe and stuck in the Room of Requirement with Sherlock Holmes sitting on his chest, in that order. </p><p>Sherlock Holmes. Yes, the one he's had a crush on for months. </p><p>No, he doesn't want to do anything about it. He just wants mince tarts. And to avoid the mistletoe. Too bad Sherlock is so observant and completely uninterested in any kind of Christmas delicacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Mistletoe Required

**Author's Note:**

> This is for daleks-on-the-hogwarts-train, for Sherlock Secret Santa 2015. Happy Holidays!

John Watson was having a very, very stressful Christmas holiday. He’d stayed at Hogwarts in order to escape one more depressing Christmas with his parents, but as soon as he’d poked his nose out of the Gryffindor common room, intent on filching some treats from the kitchen, Kelly Slughorn had appeared, with mistletoe.

John had been avoiding Kelly Slughorn for two months. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Kelly--it was just that John was interested in someone else. Sort of. Not really. Nope, actually. He wasn’t. He really just wanted peace and quiet.

And mince tarts, which had fueled the problem right now.

“JOHN!” Kelly bellowed.

“THERE HE IS!” squeaked the mistletoe. John had never seen one so big or so enthusiastic. What did Professor Sprout do to them? Could Kelly ( _Kelly_ ) have possibly enhanced it?

He raced around a corner and through a room full of armour, then down one flight of stairs. He could hear Kelly’s footsteps thundering behind him as he skidded into a long corridor along some very slick tile.

“Come on,” he muttered, “There has got to be a place.”

Kelly was getting closer, and John could hear the mistletoe giggling. He couldn’t see a single door...but wait! There! A small, purple door just to his right. He slid up to it, grasped the brass skull handle, and dove inside, slamming it behind him and shooting the bolt home.

He flopped against the wall, breathing hard. Safe. He was safe.

Or was he? Entering unknown rooms at Hogwarts was dangerous--that time he’d lost his eyebrows in fifth year when he’d gone too far down the Slytherin corridor was a prime example--but almost any danger was better than forcible kisses.

He was about to light his wand when there was a flash and room got suddenly smaller. Much smaller. So small, in fact, that John felt a weight on his chest.Could the room be squeezing him to death? He pushed up, trying to lever the weight off him, but then the weight did something odd, for a weight.

“Oof!” it said, in a petulant voice.  
John froze and retracted his hands as fast as he could manage. Had it been possible to do so, he would have retracted himself right out into the corridor, Kelly or no Kelly. He knew that voice, and the person it belonged to.

Buggering hell, he thought. From bad to worse. Even though he was definitely not attracted to Sherlock Holmes, and he really just wanted peace and quiet, having Sherlock sit on his chest was still trouble, because any second now...

“Curious,” Sherlock’s voice came, analytical. “This is the smallest I’ve seen it, and if I’m not mistaken..John Watson, what are you doing in the Room of Requirement?”

“The Room of.. what? And how do you know it’s me?”

“Requirement. And of course I know it’s you. You are the only person who uses Pears...um, your brand of soap.”

“You go around _smelling_ people?” John was flabbergasted. Clearly he needed to avoid Sherlock more carefully--especially after Quiddich practice, when he smelled like a locker room and when Sherlock always seemed to be near the pitch, looking at _something_.

“For science. Obviously.” Sherlock said, and John could hear him turn up his nose at John’s idiocy.

“Look,” John said, “Never mind the smelling thing. D’you--argh--think we could focus on the real issue here, which is…”

“I know what it is. Or, at least, I think I know what it is. Why would I be in the Room of Requirement? I didn’t require anything.”

John clacked his jaw shut. “I was talking about your bony legs on my chest, but fine, Sherlock, let’s talk about the magical properties of a Hogwarts room. All--here he coughed for effect--the time in the world.”

“John, the average human skeleton can support over eight thousand kilos of force, if the force is applied slowly. I doubt your situation is that urgent.”  
“It’s urgent!”

“Very well,” Sherlock grumbled, and tried to shift a bit. He didn’t go far, though, before his mind clicked into gear again. “Why are you in the Room of Requirement?”

“Kelly Slughorn was trying to kiss me. Again.”

“What’s wrong with Kelly Slughorn? I mean, I can make a list, starting with a deplorable lack of brains, but to a normal person he seems reasonable enough.”

“Nothing. I’m just...not interested.”

“And yet you aren’t exclusively attracted to girls.”

“No.” John refused to allow Sherlock the satisfaction.

“So,” Sherlock said, “You needed a place to hide, and so the Room of Requirement found you. I didn’t need anything--this sudden interruption has probably ruined a very important experiment, by the way--but suddenly I am here. In a very enclosed space. With you.”

“On me. Now please can you get off me.” John just wanted out now. Sherlock’s closeness, annoying and bony though it was, was having a seriously intense effect on parts of his anatomy that he’d rather Sherlock not notice.

“Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Ohhhhhhh!” John froze.

“I wouldn’t have thought it. But…very well, John. If you try and tilt your body to the side I believe I can put my feet on the floor.”

John twisted, and Sherlock did indeed manage to ease his weight off John’s chest. John breathed a sigh of relief, and tried to straighten up, as far away from Sherlock as possible. To his surprise, Sherlock reached down and, one large hand on his ribs, helped him to stand.

Immediately, John realized that this was no better; now they were face-to-face, close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“You smell like linden” he blurted out, then immediately felt like an idiot.

“Shampoo,” Sherlock said, and took a deep breath. “John, I know why you’re not interested in Kelly Slughorn.”

“No.” John said.

“Yes. Because. You are interested in me.”

John was stunned. He couldn’t move...well, that was clear, but he couldn’t breathe either.

“Elevated heart rate. Breathlessness,” Sherlock was sounding a little breathless himself, now. “And no denial, which is very telling for you.”

“I…” John was speechless.

“John?”

“Because of the increased blood flow to your genital area, you may not have noticed that my heart rate is also elevated.”

“Oh.” John said faintly.

“And I find myself in imminent danger of increased blood flow as well.”

John still could not say anything of substance.

“I find myself wanting to kiss you, John, but I warn you, I’ll probably be rubbish at it.”

There was a brief moment when John nearly regained his brain function, and he wanted to say that it didn’t matter how rubbish Sherlock was at kissing as long as Sherlock kissed him, but all he could squeak out, ultimately, was “Yes.”

Sherlock drew back.

“‘Yes’, as in ‘You’ll be rubbish at kissing, Sherlock?’ or ‘Yes’ as in ‘Even if it’s unpleasantly wet it doesn’t matter’?”

John took a deep breath, hoping that what came out of his mouth wouldn’t be a high-pitched squeak, but before he could say anything, Sherlock hummed, satisfied, and placed his unreasonably large hand on John’s ribcage.

“It’s the second one,” he said, and kissed John full on the lips. It was definitely not rubbish, but John didn’t tell him that because Sherlock Holmes was already much too pleased with himself.

 


End file.
